


In The Dead Of Night

by billys_consulting_flatmates



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash, post - the pool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billys_consulting_flatmates/pseuds/billys_consulting_flatmates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nightmare leads to unexpected comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Dead Of Night

John's eyes snapped open and he gasped for breath while blinking rapidly, hoping to dispel the memories which haunted his dreams. The bomb, the pool, the red lasers, the stench of chlorine clogging his nose, the tightness of the vest around his chest and the all-consuming fear.

He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, trying to ward off a panic attack before he rolled over to check the small alarm clock on his bedside table, the red numbers burning his eyes.

1:28 am.

He groaned and closed his eyes with a huff before sitting bolt right up, his eyes opening once more, the image of a red laser dot dancing upon pale forehead framed by black curls seemed to be imprinted upon John's retinas. He bit his lip and slowed his breathing down before reaching over to turn on his lamp. He pulled himself up and leant against the headboard.

His breathing evened out and he turned to look at his clock again.

1:34 am.

His head tilted back and rested against the wall and he stared up at the ceiling. He doubted he would be getting back to sleep anytime soon not that this was a recent habit of his. He sighed and reached for the battered book lying next to the lamp. He flipped to where his bookmark lay amongst the pages and he settled back, attempting to distract himself from his nightmares with a once nervous hobbit's heroic actions in the elven corridors.

Ten minutes later John realised that this method was not working at all. He had re-read Bilbo's plan three times before he gave up completely. He replaced the book and threw his head back, wincing slightly when he knocked his head against the wall harder than intended. He stared up at the golden light thrown against the plaster by the lamp.

The soft light was in sharp contrast to the harsh white light of that pool which had been reflected by the blue water.

John shook his head sharply and sighed before pushing the sheets off his legs and swung them off the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clenched on the mattress, his head lowered.

A cup of tea, he decided. Hopefully that would calm his rattled nerves and allow him to get at least a couple of hours of sleep.

He slowly stood up and made his way across his room, glancing across at the alarm clock as he went.

1:47 am.

He opened the bedroom door gently and began to make his way down the stairs as quietly as possible, half-hoping Sherlock was asleep so he wouldn't see how the incident at the pool was affecting John, half-hoping he was awake so he could reassure himself that those red lasers and what lay behind them had not achieved what they had threatened to do.

The sitting room was dark with no sign of life but a low light shone under the door that led to the kitchen and onto the landing, alerting John to the fact that he was not the only conscious inhabitant up and about.

He opened the door and blinked against the sudden light until he could clearly see Sherlock sitting at the table in front of his microscope working on some experiment or other. He didn't look up at John as he went over to the kettle and for that John was grateful. He knew he probably looked like a wreck with his hair mussed from sleep and shadows under his eyes.

He grabbed a mug and quickly picked out a teabag which he dropped into the mug before he leaned against the counter and waited for the water to boil.  
Silence lay between them and John was loathe to break it so instead of asking he just pulled another mug down from the shelf along with sugar and the last teabag. He'd need to go shopping tomorrow for more. The kettle clicked off and John poured water into both mugs, adding a splash of milk to them before turning around.

Sherlock didn't look up when he placed the mug down next to his elbow, nor did he say anything but John didn't care. He leant back against the counter and watched Sherlock for a moment, for once giving into his desire to just look. His eyes raked over Sherlocks pale face, his sharp cheekbones, his fascinating eyes, his boyish curls, not caring at this point if Sherlock noticed.

He closed his eyes and sipped his tea, breathing slowly as he tried to calm his still shaken nerves. After a few minutes in this fashion he opened his eyes and was surprised to find Sherlock watching him. John stared back at him, too tired to act awkward after catching his flatmate staring at him.

He slowly finished his tea and turned to the sink to wash it out. He then turned back to Sherlock to find the other man had returned to his work. John glanced at the equipment surrounding Sherlock and frowned when he read the label on one of the bottles on the table.

"Chloroform?" he asked, his voice sounding unnaturally loud as it pierced through the silence. Sherlock didn't look up from his microscope and merely hummed softly.

"Do I want to know how you got chloroform?" John moved closer to the table. Sherlock glanced at him before answering in a low voice.

"Probably not."

John nodded and made a low humming noise before he turned away. He hesitated for a moment, his feet unwilling to turn towards the stairs and back to his bed, a sudden flash of light and water and red passing through his mind and he turned away and towards the sitting room instead.

He flipped on the light and strode in over to his desk to where his laptop sat. He picked it up and moved over to his armchair where he sat down, deciding to check on his blog and maybe write up the latest case.

He sat there quietly for a few minutes while he scrolled past old comments before opening his email. The only notable ones were from Harry wanting to catch up. John logged out, not in the right frame of mind to respond to her at the moment, and went back to his blog and opened up a new entry.

He sat for almost an hour typing out sentences and paragraphs and then deleting it all. His eyelids slowly grew heavier though he didn't put his laptop away. He kept attempting a new entry until his eyes no longer opened and his breathing slowed.

The next thing John knew was a sore neck when he opened his eyes to the flat lit up with soft morning light. He blinked blearily and just stopped himself from stretching when he remembered his laptop had been on his lap but when he looked his laptop was gone. Even more surprisingly was a blanket had been thrown over him at some point after he'd fallen asleep. He sat straight and turned, ignoring the pain in his neck, to look into the kitchen but found it devoid of Sherlock.

He turned back to face the room and found his laptop was back on his desk, turned off. He slowly got to his feet and went into the kitchen and saw the table held no trace of Sherlocks' experiment. It all could have been a dream except he had woken up downstairs and two dirty tea mugs sat in the sink.

He returned to the sitting room and picked up the blanket from where it had fallen to the floor. There was only one other person in the flat who could have done that. Unless Mrs Hudson had been up here but it was far too early for her to be venturing out of her flat.

So that left Sherlock.

But he couldn't have?

Could he?

"Sherlock?"

There was no answer to his call however and he turned to see Sherlock's coat and scarf gone from their place by the door and he sighed, squashing the slight fear and disappointment that rose with this knowledge.

He strode through the door and up the stairs to his room. More proof that last night was not a dream lay scattered across his room; the disheveled bed, the lamp that was still on.

He sighed before turning the lamp off and picking up his phone to check for messages. His heart seemed to freeze for a moment when he saw a message from Sherlock, fear and anticipation flooding his system immediately.

_At Barts. More tea in cupboard._

John didn't even bother fighting the smile that curved his lips as his eyes lingered on the words on his phone screen. His panic from last night now seemed ridiculous. Sherlock was obviously okay and they'd both made it out alive. He read Sherlocks text once more and felt the left over unease slip away.

John hesitated before heading back downstairs and into the kitchen, his phone still in his hand as he pulled out the brand new box of tea from the cupboard.


End file.
